


None So Blind

by Elsin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Magic Revealed, Reincarnation, Secret Identity, for Merlin at least, more like type-of-magic revealed, not so much for Harry Potter, well sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsin/pseuds/Elsin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are none so blind as those who will not see.  That’s what Merlin learned at Camelot, when Arthur – sometimes seemingly willingly – failed to notice his magic for ten whole years, despite some of Merlin’s rather blatant uses of it.  Now he’s just hoping it’ll hold true once more – after all, people see what they expect to see, and no one expects to see Merlin, <em>the</em> Merlin, in the form of an eleven-year-old boy whose magic only just barely works the way it’s supposed to.<br/>The reign of Lord Voldemort left an evil across the land, and when that evil rears its ugly head once more, Merlin knows that it’s high time he stepped out of the shadows and into the light – this time, unless he helps, Arthur’s destiny won’t be the only one that’s lost.<br/>So help he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy, the Train, and the Hat

The boy was alone when he arrived at King’s Cross Station, carrying a trunk that looked far too big for him.  Apart from the trunk – and the very cross owl that was perched atop it – the boy looked entirely ordinary.  He was thin and pale, and perhaps a bit tall for his age.

When he reached the barrier between Platform 9 and Platform 10, he glanced furtively around to see if there was anyone looking at him.  When he saw that there wasn’t, he took a breath, nodded to himself, and pushed his trunk straight through the barrier, quickly following it with his body.

On Platform 9 ¾, there was a whole crowd of people, but in spite of his youth the boy made his way through them as if he had done such a thing a hundred times over.  He climbed aboard the train with his trunk, and entered a compartment alone.  Once inside, he pulled out a book, and began to read, curled up against the window.

Not five minutes later, he heard a knock, and the compartment door slid open.  A girl of eleven with long blonde hair stuck her head in and smiled at him.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” he said, and as she entered the compartment he returned to his book.

“I’m Luna,” she told him after a moment’s pause.  “Luna Lovegood.”  He paused, slipped a marker into his book, and finally looked up at her properly.

“I’m Matthew,” he said.  “Matthew Nelson. Is it your first year at Hogwarts, too?”

“Yes.”

They settled into a comfortable silence after that, Matthew returning to his book and Luna pulling out a magazine to read.  Some hours later, Matthew broke the silence, carefully not looking at her as he did so.

“Do you know what House you’ll be Sorted into?”  He was studiously looking out the window, at the darkening countryside flashing by.

“Perhaps Ravenclaw,” Luna replied, “though I’m not really sure.  They say you can never tell before you’re Sorted.”

Matthew nodded, and told her, “I haven’t the faintest idea where I’ll be.”

They lapsed into silence again, and when the train came to a halt, stood up as one.  In their boat they were accompanied by a red-haired girl who introduced herself as Ginny, and a dark-haired boy who introduced himself as Gavin.  Matthew did a double take when he first saw the other boy, but then shook his head.  What he was thinking – well.  That was impossible, and well did he know it.

The journey across the lake was quick, only once interrupted when Gavin tried to stand up and in doing so almost made the boat capsize, and soon they were standing before the castle.  A smile flitted across Matthew’s lips; it had been too long since he’d been near a castle of any sort, much less one of such a majestic scale.  Moments later, he shook his head; that wasn’t him.  _Not you, Matthew.  And you’d better remember it_.

Soon, Professor McGonagall, a tall, imposing woman, opened the doors, and ushered the new first years inside.

* * *

 

Gavin had to admit it – even the Entrance Hall was impressive.  Not that that said much about the character of the school, or of the other students; personally, he wasn’t holding his breath.  He’d seen plenty of wizards in his time, and precious little to make him love their world.

But still, he had to be here.  He had to learn, since he didn’t fancy his magic going haywire at inopportune moments for the rest of his life.  So he sighed, and followed Professor McGonagall into the small room off to the side of the Entrance Hall.  There he turned to the dark-haired boy from the boat – Matthew, hadn’t he said his name was?

“What house d’you reckon you’ll be Sorted into?” he asked.  Matthew simply shrugged.

“No idea,” he said.  “And you?”

“Probably Gryffindor,” he admitted.  “Unless it’s decided that I’m more stupid and reckless than I am actually brave.”  At that, Matthew hid what seemed to be both a smirk and a snort of laughter behind his sleeve.  “Something funny about that?”

“No, not really.  Just… you just reminded me for a moment of someone that I used to know.”

They stood together in silence, the conversations around them slowly falling away.  Then Professor McGonagall returned, and all the first years walked after her into the Great Hall.  Gavin wasn’t surprised to see the ceiling of the Great Hall looking just like the sky outside, but he also wasn’t surprised at the gasps that went up all around him.  He half-turned to Matthew, to see that the other boy was gazing at the ceiling, looking just as entranced as the rest.

“It’s not real,” he told him quietly.  “It’s enchanted to look like the sky outside.”  Matthew nodded distractedly, then turned to him.

“How do you know that?”  Matthew asked.  Gavin frowned at him; where had _that_ question come from?

“I just do,” he said.  It was a terrible answer and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to get into _that_ whole story with a boy he’d only just met.  Then they were all lined up in front of the school, and the Sorting Hat was singing its song – Gavin ignored most of it.  Then McGonagall was beginning to read off names from her list.  Gavin paid no attention to any of them, right up until –

“Knightly, Gavin!”

“That’s you,” Matthew hissed, elbowing him, and, with a cold trepidation settling into the pit of his stomach, he walked towards the stool and let the hat be placed upon his head.

_Well, well.  What have we here?_   Gavin had heard that the Sorting Hat talked to people inside their heads, but he’d never quite believed it until right now.  He got the sense that the Hat was laughing a bit before it continued.  _Plenty of bravery, of course.  Lots of heart, too – oh, and what’s this?  Ah, loyalty.  Loyalty in droves.  Now, where to put you?  Slytherin and Ravenclaw have no place for you, that much is clear.  But that leaves us two options.  Which is it to be?_   There was a pause as the Hat deliberated.

_Well, all things considered, I could put you in Hufflepuff.  But I think you’ll fit better into –_ “GRYFFINDOR!”  The Hat shouted the last line aloud, and Gavin felt it being lifted from his head.  Then he stood up with legs that he was glad didn’t tremble, and made his way over to the Gryffindor table as the students already seated there cheered for him.

He looked back up to meet Matthew’s eyes, and he could’ve sworn that, beyond the usual trepidation, Matthew was well and truly _afraid_.

What was he afraid of?


	2. Of Appearing Meals and Bad Dreams

* * *

“RAVENCLAW!” the Sorting Hat called out, and Matthew felt it being lifted from his head.  Smiling, more out of relief than anything else, he went to join the cheering Ravenclaw table, and slid into the open spot next to Luna.  On his other side, there was a girl with curly dark hair and pale eyes.

“You’re Matthew, right?” she said, and he nodded.  “I’m Morgan Pennyworth.”  She held out a hand, and he shook it.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

After the last new first year had been Sorted, the food appeared in front of them.  Matthew’s eyes widened in shock – he’d never seen anything quite like it before.  Morgan glanced over at him, and laughed.

“Does it always show up like this?” he asked.

“At dinner, yes,” Morgan said.  “Breakfast and lunch, too, but only if you’re quite early.”  She shrugged.  “Why?”

“No reason,” Matthew said.  “Just curious.”  Then he gladly helped himself to the food, as did both Morgan and Luna.  When finally Dumbledore dismissed them, he found himself to be surprisingly tired as he followed the Ravenclaw prefects out of the Great Hall and up the stairs.

It turned out that the Ravenclaw common room was protected not by a password but by a riddle.  He turned to Morgan, who’d stayed near him as they’d all traipsed upstairs, with a slight frown on his face.

“What if you can’t solve the riddle?”

“Then you’d better hope someone comes along who can.”

“And what if someone from another House can solve it?”

“Then they deserve to enter.”  Ahead of them, the crowd began to move.  “Come on, I’m tired and you look like you’re dead on your feet.  I’d say it’s time for bed.”

* * *

 

As Morgan climbed the stairs to the second year girls’ room, a smile spread across her face.  It was all well and good to be home, but she liked being back at Hogwarts.  She was the first to return to their dorm, and swiftly got herself ready for bed, curling up under her covers as the others began to trickle in.

It did not take her long to fall asleep.  But when she did, the fear that she’d kept at the back of her mind all evening was realized.  For when she slept, she dreamed.

_Morgan watched as if she were a disembodied pair of eyes as a redheaded girl – she couldn’t get a good look at the girl’s face – lay with her hair spread out around her at the foot of a statue.  A door at the other end of the room opened, and a boy with dark hair stepped inside._

_The scene blurred and shifted._

_Now she watched, again disembodied, as the same dark-haired boy hurried through a hedge maze, his wand out.  Limping, he took hold of a cup just as another boy did the same, and the two boys vanished along with the cup they’d taken hold of.  Abruptly, she found herself and them in a darkened graveyard.  The older boy fell to the ground – dead?  She couldn’t tell – and the younger was tied to a gravestone.  From a cauldron rose a man with an odd, snakelike face._

_In the dream, Morgan had no mouth with which to cry out_.

All of a sudden, she came awake, breathing hard.  She stared up at the ceiling; she didn’t know what the visions meant.  All she knew was that they weren’t good, either of them.

Her pajama shirt was soaked in sweat, and she peeled it from her skin with trembling hands.  Never had she had such vivid dreams at home as she had at Hogwarts, and this year seemed like it was shaping up to be worse than the last.

Maybe that was just because last year she hadn’t known that they were real.  Pulling on a fresh shirt, Morgan curled up under her comforter once more and slipped back away into sleep.  As she did so, she was grabbed anew by her dreams and pulled into a nightmare once more.

_She was looking through the eyes of someone this time; a woman, she thought, judging by the dress, and one who was significantly taller than her.  She was hidden in the wings of what seemed to be a throne room, and in front of her there was a blonde woman speaking to a man on his knees._

_The man told the blonde woman that she had no right to Camelot’s throne._

_“She doesn’t,” the woman whose eyes Morgan looked through said, stepping forward.  “But I do.”  Venom in her voice, she added, “I am, after all, your daughter.”  The woman settled herself upon the throne, and the man stared at her with disbelief and heartbreak in his eyes.  Morgan doubted that the woman saw – or if she did, she did not care.  Somehow, without looking in a mirror, Morgan knew that the woman was giving a very self-satisfied smirk.  The cat who’d caught the canary._

_A nervous man came forward, and pronounced the woman to be Morgana Pendragon, Queen of Camelot, and –_

“Morgan! _Morgan!”_   Her eyes flew open, and once more she stared at the ceiling, her heart racing, breathing raggedly.  Next to her sat an anxious-looking Celia McCall, one of the other second year Ravenclaws.

“Celia? What’s – why are you over here?”  In speaking, she found that her throat was raw.

“You were whimpering,” Celia said.  “Then you screamed and I came over here to wake you up.”

“Thanks,” Morgan said.  She pushed herself halfway up into a sitting position, only to change her mind and flop back on the bed.

Celia seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying her lip, before saying, “It was another dream, wasn’t it?  You were dreaming again.”

“Yes.”  Morgan’s answer was barely more than a whisper, and she turned away to face the wall.  She didn’t want to discuss it with her roommates.  Celia waited a moment longer before getting to her feet and going back to her own bed.

When Morgan was sure that the other girl had gone back to sleep, she carefully, quietly got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs to the Ravenclaw common room.  Once there, she sat in one of the chairs and hugged her knees to her chest.

Morgan stayed that way the rest of the night, staring into nothing with the moonlight reflecting off her eyes.  She didn’t dare go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to keep my updates on a once-a-week schedule; I can write faster than that, but this way I'll build up a buffer if a time should come when I cannot or do not write for a while.  
> (And I really ought to thank my sister, who's been rather wonderful for helping me with this story.)


	3. A Slytherin Among Gryffindors, and a Right Git

William knew that the Houses didn’t mix seating arrangements.  But he couldn’t help himself; it wasn’t _his_ fault that he’d been Sorted into a different House than his sister, and since she was three years his senior it wasn’t as if he’d see her in any of his classes, either.

So he crossed the Great Hall, a bit nervously, making the long trek from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor table.  Whispers followed him – “Why’s a Slytherin coming over here?” “What’s he doing?” – but he ignored them all.  He had to.

“Genevieve,” he said when he was right behind her, startling her slightly; she jumped, and turned to him.

“William?  What’re you doing over here?”

“I – never mind,” he said, turning away.  “It’s nothing.  I shouldn’t be over here anyway.”  But instead of letting him leave, his sister caught his sleeve between her fingers.

“No, it’s fine,” she said.  “You can stay for a few minutes.”  And to prove her point, she slid over on the bench, giving him enough room to slip in beside her.  A moment more of hesitation, during which he stood there awkwardly shifting his weight back and forth, and he took the seat.

“I’m sorry for coming over here like this,” he told the table, though the words were intended for Genevieve.  "I know it’s not done.”

“Hey,” she said, “you’re my brother.  You can come talk to me any time you please.”

“Hey, Genevieve!”  Both William and Genevieve whipped their heads up, turning to look at the boy who’d spoken.  Even sitting down, William could tell that he was tall, with broad shoulders, blonde hair, and blue eyes.  “Who’s the Slytherin kid?” the boy asked, and William, though he refused to back down, felt his face turning red.

“Arthur, he’s my brother,” Genevieve said, “so lay off.”

“Oh,” Arthur said.  “Well, then.  In that case, I’m Arthur Pennyworth, and one of Genevieve’s friends.  And you are?”

“William,” William replied softly.  “William Foster.”  A glance back at the Slytherin table told him that his absence had not gone unnoticed, and he rose from his place.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I rather think it’s time I was going.”

* * *

 

William walked across the Great Hall with his shoulders back and his chin up, eyes flashing defiance at anyone who looked like they were going to comment on what he’d done, but Arthur could see – even from this distance – that that was merely a cover for his nerves.  The kid was right; mixing Houses at mealtimes _wasn’t_ done, _especially_ not Gryffindor and Slytherin.

“How’d you and your brother end up in such different Houses?” he asked Genevieve.  He and Morgan were in different Houses, sure, but they were quite different people.  And she was in Ravenclaw, anyway.  Not Slytherin.

“We’re different people, Arthur,” she drawled.  “Funnily enough, siblings can have different temperaments.”

“No – that’s not what I – it’s just –”  Arthur shook his head.  “You two seemed so similar when he was over here, that’s all.”

Genevieve checked her watch, and looked back at Arthur.  “Come on, let’s not be late to our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the year.”  It did not escape Arthur’s notice that she’d avoided answering his question, but he let it go and followed her out of the Great Hall.

It turned out that their first DADA class was with the Ravenclaws.  Arthur nodded cordially to some of them as they entered the classroom; he had no great friends among them, but all were on friendly terms with him.  The seat he sat in, near the back of the class, was between Genevieve and Fred Weasley.  On Fred’s other side was his brother, George.

“So,” Fred said, turning to him, “what do you make of this Lockhart fellow?”

Arthur shrugged.  “I’m not quite sure,” he admitted.  “Haven’t had enough time to form my opinion of him yet.”

“According to our little brother,” George said, leaning in, “he’s a right git.”

“Has your brother even had his class yet?”

“No.  But he’s met him.”

They had to stop talking then, because the subject of their conversation had entered the room, flashing his pearly white smile around.  Arthur was almost surprised that no one in the room was blinded by it.  Then he picked up Genevieve’s copy of _Year with the Yeti_ , and displayed the portrait of himself on its front cover to the class.

“Me,” he said.  “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly’_ s Most-Charming-Smile Award – but that’s hardly relevant to this class now, is it?  I hardly got rid of any of the monsters I did by _smiling_ at them!”  No one laughed; Arthur looked at Fred and George out of the corner of his eye, and saw that both twins had identical, near-diabolical smirks on their faces.  Knowing what the two of them could do when they put their minds to it – well.  Arthur didn’t envy Lockhart, not one little bit.

That was not, however, to say that he wasn’t looking forwards to seeing what they would do.  Just because he didn’t envy the man didn’t mean he had to feel sorry for him – and this view was only strengthened when he saw the first-day pop quiz that Lockhart had decided to give them.  _Favourite colour?  Secret ambition?  Greatest achievement?_   All right, fine, the last one was at least slightly _relevant_ to the topic at hand, but it was an opinion question.  An opinion question!  Ridiculous.

Arthur folded his arms and gave his parchment a threatening look.  On his left sat Genevieve, who was at least _trying_ to complete the test, and on his right sat Fred, who had pulled out his wand underneath the table.  Seeing Arthur looking, he pressed a finger to his lips, and Arthur turned away again.  He couldn’t be involved with their pranks properly, not when his father was on the Board, but that didn’t by any means mean that he wasn’t highly amused by them.

Eventually, he decided that he might as well flip through the test and see if there was anything he _could_ answer – unlikely, considering that he hadn’t read any of the books, but worth a try.  Glaring once more at the parchment, he reflected that, although Quirrell may have had the slight problem of You-Know-Who sticking out the back of his head, at least he’d _tried_ to actually _teach_ them something relevant.

Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand, was nothing but a joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought I modified some of Lockhart's dialogue from _Chamber of Secrets_ , you're right, I did - I just can't see Lockhart giving that little spiel in phrasing much different than what was in the book.


	4. The Wall and the Woods

* * *

“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said, standing in front of the entranced first years.  “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back.  You have been warned.”  While they were all still trying to digest that, she changed a book into a puppy, and then back into a book.  Flurries of discussion broke out across the classroom.

“Is she serious?” Matthew asked, turning to look at Luna.  “About kicking us out, I mean.”

“I think so.”  Luna’s reply was unusually serious for her, and he tried to scrutinize her more closely – but before he could, McGonagall had called the class’s attention back to her.

“I could go into long discussions of theory, but none of you will appreciate that yet.  For today, we’ll focus on simply turning a match into a needle.”

As it turned out, changing a match into a needle was more difficult than it sounded.  Or, well –

Matthew winced at the sudden stab of pain in his head.  A pressure building behind his eyes, he rested his elbows on the table and his face in his hands.  Against his hands, behind his closed eyelids, there was a blessedly cool darkness.  But it wasn’t enough.  _It’ll never be enough_ , a small voice in the back of his mind warned, but Matthew ignored that voice.  It was wrong, it had to be wrong.  He _needed_ it to be wrong.

“Mr. Nelson, are you quite all right?”  The voice was Professor McGonagall’s.  He said nothing, not sure how to say anything without setting his head to ringing.  Her voice made it worse.  _Everything_ made it worse, actually.  Professor McGonagall said something else – he wasn’t paying enough attention to make out what it was.  Then he felt a small hand gripping his arm and pulling him up out of his seat, and the next thing he knew, he was leaning on the wall in the hall outside, Luna next to him.  So.  It must’ve been her that had pulled him up.

The stabbing pain in his head had receded somewhat, but there was still a great pressure behind his eyes.  And he knew exactly why _that_ was.  But – no.  Not here.  Not now.  _Go away,_ he begged the headache.  _Just – please.  Go away_.  The headache, of course, did no such thing.

“Do you want to go to the hospital wing?” Luna asked him, silver eyes full of concern.  He shook his head, and, with some difficulty, pushed himself off the wall.  The hospital wing couldn’t help him; no one could.  This was all his fault, anyway.

“There’s nothing they can do,” he said, a bitter undercurrent in his voice.

“What’s wrong, then?” she asked, tilting her head quizzically to the side.

“Nothing.  Everything.  It’s all my fault, anyway.”  He paused, and saw her confusion – honestly, that had barely made sense even to himself.  “Go back to class, Luna,” he said, and without waiting to see if she followed his instructions or not, he set off down the corridor.

Where to go?  He didn’t know.  There was no one he could ask, no one he could turn to for help – at least, not anymore.  So he did the only thing he knew how to do: he went to sit by the lake.  The air was still warm with summer, and he let it brush past him as he closed his eyes.  _You didn’t think this through, did you?_   The voice in his head was his own, but it still managed to annoy him.  He _had_ thought this through.  This was just a – a – a _complication_.  A complication, that was all.

So he stayed where he was, all alone by the lake, and set about trying to fix the fracturing wall in his mind.

* * *

 

Luna knew that she should follow Matthew’s instruction, and return to class.  But there was something – something about him.  She wasn’t sure what it was, but he was her friend – the first she’d had in… well, a long time, anyway.  Maybe her first ever.  So she had to help him – that _was_ how friendship worked, wasn’t it?

She wasn’t sure where she’d expected him to go, but she was surprised when following Matthew led her outside, and then down to the lake.  Matthew knelt on the shore, and she ducked behind a tree, hoping he hadn’t noticed her following him.

“What are you doing out here?”  She jumped, and turned to see that the voice belonged to a boy, the boy who’d been in the boat with her and Matthew their first night – she couldn’t remember his name.  Luna frowned up at him – he was at least half a head taller than her.

“Looking for nargles,” she said.  She knew that the boy wouldn’t know that this wasn’t at all the sort of place that you’d find nargles in.  “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

“I’m Gavin,” he said.  “And, unless I’m very much mistaken, you’re Luna – right?”

“Right,” she said.  Then she added, “You’re a Gryffindor.  Don’t you have class right now?”

Gavin laughed shortly.  “I could ask the same thing of you,” he said, and Luna got the sense that he really didn’t want her to press it.  So she let the subject drop, and tried to think of something else to talk about.  Luckily for her, though – or perhaps unluckily – Gavin beat her to it.

“Have you ever been in the Forbidden Forest?” he asked her, leaning close and speaking more quietly than he usually did.

“We’re not allowed to,” she said, and he waved his hand dismissively.

“I didn’t ask if you were _allowed_ to.  I asked if you _had_. I take it you haven’t, then.”

“No.”

“I hear there are unicorns in there.  And centaurs.  And maybe hippogriffs, too.  I even heard a rumor about _acromantulas_ in the forest.”  His face was alight with excitement, and Luna had an idea of where he was going with this.

“Do you want to go look around with me?” he asked, looking nervous for the first time.  Luna hesitated, biting her lip.  It was a bad idea.  It was _definitely_ a bad idea.  Yet she found that she wanted to.

“Not too far in,” she said, and Gavin’s face lit up with a smile.  Luna followed him away from the lake, away from Matthew, wondering only one thing – what did she think she was _doing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I admit it, McGonagall's speech is _heavily_ based on the one in _The Philosopher's Stone_. I just have the impression that she has that speech mostly memorized, and there's really no better way to say it as far as I can see.


	5. The Tale and the Thestral

On a beautiful early autumn day such as this one, the library was usually deserted.  But that wasn’t the case this time.  In the back of the library, hidden among the stacks, Gwendolyn Smith sat poring over a pile of books nearly as tall as she was.  She really should have been outside with her friends, enjoying the sunshine – it was, after all, a Saturday afternoon, and she was sure that nearly everyone else was out there.  Usually she would have joined them, but the lack of people was precisely _why_ she’d picked today, of all days, to hole up in the library.

Muggle tales weren’t often popular reading for wizards, but the tale of King Arthur, and – more to the point – Merlin, was well known.  She’d always been curious to know more about those times, but it seemed that the muggle world held only myth and idle speculation.  So here she was, with a whole pile of semi-history, semi-myth books beside her, trying to piece together the story.

Reaching the end of one book and setting it on the pile to her left – the “reject” pile – Gwen sighed.  All the stories were the same, and none of them seemed to have more than the slightest basis in fact.  She rubbed her eyes tiredly.  King Arthur had once lived, as had Merlin.  That much was clear, but everything else – including some rather important details – was shrouded in myth.  Sighing, she picked up the next book in the stack to look at.  This one was smaller, with stiff cloth covers, and she had just opened it when a voice sounded next to her.

“Gwen.”  She jumped, and looked up, relaxing when she realized that it was only a friend.

“Oh, hi, Morgan,” she said with a smile.  “What brings you here on this fine day?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Morgan replied, settling into the chair next to Gwen’s.  “Still obsessed with the Arthurian mythology?”

“That’s the _problem_ ,” Gwen muttered, half to herself.  “It’s _not_ just mythology – if it was I wouldn’t care. But something real happened, and I can’t – figure – it – _out.”_

“I’m sure you’ll get somewhere eventually,” Morgan said.  For the first time, Gwen looked at her friend – really, truly _looked_ at her – and she was shocked by what she saw.  Morgan was paler than even she usually was and thinner than she’d been at the start of the year a mere two weeks earlier, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“Are you sleeping properly?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.  Morgan looked startled at the abrupt change of topic.

“I – yeah, I’ve been sleeping fine.  Why do you ask?” she said, twisting a strand of dark hair around her finger.  She wouldn’t meet Gwen’s eyes.

“Are you –” here Gwen paused, glanced furtively around, and lowered her voice, although there was no one even remotely close to them – “having _dreams_ again?”  Morgan opened her mouth, closed it again, and looked away from Gwen entirely.  She sighed.

“Yes,” she said.  “Yes, I’ve been having the dreams again.”

“And?”  Gwen knew that the last time Morgan had had dreams that kept her from sleeping, she’d thought they were just dreams – but then they’d come true.  And maybe this time, they’d be able to get a bit of warning before whatever storm was next to come came.  But Morgan, instead of lighting up, let out a frustrated hiss.

“Nothing _useful,”_ she said.  “Nothing I can _do_ anything with.  It’s just fragments of scenes, snippets of speech – Gwen, it’s nothing at all useful for knowing what to do to _avoid_ it.”

“Oh.”  And suddenly Gwen felt like the biggest ass in the world.  Here her friend was, suffering from nightmares and putting a brave face on, and here _she_ was, trying to exploit her friend’s dreams – trying to _use_ her.  It didn’t matter how good her intentions were – that was still what she’d been doing.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Morgan.  “I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

* * *

 

Gavin wasn’t afraid of the Forbidden Forest.  He knew that it was chock-full of dangerous things, but to him it always felt like coming home.  Still, he was glad that Luna had agreed to accompany him that first time; he wasn’t sure he’d have plucked up the courage to do it otherwise.

Now, he cut his eyes over to her; she was smiling the dreamy smile that she always seemed to smile as they made their way into the Forbidden Forest for what was probably the fifth or sixth time – Gavin had lost track.  This time they went a direction they hadn’t gone before, a sharp turn to the right, and soon they found themselves in a wide clearing.  On the ground was a lush blanket of pine needles, and the scent of summer’s end filled the air.

Across the clearing, a dark shape emerged from the trees.  It was the size and the shape of a horse, but real horses didn’t look so – well – _dead_.  The creature was skeletal, seeming to be literally skin-and-bones, and from the sharp intake of breath he heard beside him, he knew that Luna had seen it too.  The skin it did have was scaly and reptilian, its eyes were blank and white, and folded along its spine were a great pair of wings.

“What is it?” he asked her quietly.

“I’ve no idea,” she said, and he glanced at her; she looked and sounded utterly enchanted by the creature.  Slowly, she moved from his side, holding out a hand to the horse-creature.

“Luna – no –” Gavin said, but it was too late. She had met the horse-creature in the middle of the clearing, and it looked her up and down.  Now, Gavin was a Gryffindor.  He wasn’t _afraid_ of the not-a-horse.  But it didn’t seem like approaching it so brashly was the best idea, really.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Luna said softly, and Gavin felt his face turning red.

“I wasn’t,” he muttered.  He slowly came up to stand next to Luna, and as he did so, she carefully pressed a hand to the horse-creature’s nose.  For a moment, all of them – Luna, Gavin, and the horse-creature – were frozen, and then the horse-creature pressed its nose against Luna’s palm for a moment before withdrawing and backing away.

The creature had a certain majesty to it.  That was becoming clearer to Gavin as he watched it walk away, back into the trees, its long black tail swishing behind it.

He turned to Luna, and saw that her usually-pale face was flushed, and her eyes were sparkling with excitement.  A grin spread across her face as he watched, and he found that he, too was grinning.

“That was _amazing,_ ” she said.

“Yeah,” said Gavin, his voice soft, his gaze drifting back to the spot where the horse-creature had disappeared among the trees.  “Yeah, it really was.”


	6. Dark Magic, Dark Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was supposed to go up on Sunday, but clearly that didn't happen. Sorry about that - I had it written, but I'm not really sure how much I like it, which is probably why I put it off.  
> Anyway, here goes.

Moriah’s eyes sparkled as she surveyed the room before her.  She had long been hearing the rumors of this place, but today was the first time she’d managed to make it work for her.  _So.  It’s real, then_.  She had doubted the rumors’ veracity, but it seemed that those doubts had been unfounded.

_How_ this room was possible, she wasn’t even sure.  But possible it clearly was, and she was glad, for now she had a room to practice her spells in without worrying about being overheard or found.  And… no.  No, that _couldn’t_ be.

She approached the shelves that lined the room.  The moment she’d entered she’d seen them, but she’d paid them little mind.  Clearly that had been an error.

The shelves were stuffed nearly to bursting with books, and when she saw what _kind_ of books, they were, her eyes widened.  Advanced spell books, books of potions, ancient myths.  None of them, bar the myths, could have been found even in the restricted section of the library, for these were books of dark magic – and not the kind of book that told you how to block it, either.  No, these books were of the sort that taught the reader how to _do_ dark magic.

Aunt Eleanora had always forbidden Moriah from reading of dark magic, fearing that doing so would send her down the same path as her father, but there was no need for worry in _that_ regard.  Moriah had no intention of becoming a Death Eater.

She sat there for hours, losing track of the time as she pored over the books in the Room of Requirement.  As she did so, in the back of her mind she reflected that her aunt shouldn’t have worried about her turning out like her father.

She should have worried about what would happen if she _didn’t_.

* * *

 

Walking along a seventh-floor corridor in the middle of the night, Vivien didn’t expect to see anyone.  So she was rather surprised when she turned the corner and saw a sixth-year Slytherin girl emerging from a doorway that was not usually there.  _The Room of Requirement.  Interesting.  I wonder what she was doing in there._   There was no time for idle speculation, though – it was long after curfew, and Vivien knew that the girl wasn’t a prefect.

“Interesting place for a midnight stroll,” she remarked to the girl, who flinched rather violently and turned to her.

“I – I wasn’t – I lost track of the time,” said the girl, drawing herself up and staring at Vivien.  “You’re Madame Pomfrey’s assistant, aren’t you?”

“Correct.”

“Why didn’t Dumbledore announce you at the feast at the start of the year?” the girl asked, curiosity winning over wariness on her face.

“I hadn’t arrived yet,” Vivien said, shrugging.  That was all the answer that she owed anyone but Dumbledore, and she’d already made her apologies to Dumbledore along with her excuses.  “Now, you know who I am, but I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

The girl hesitated but for a moment before saying, “I’m Moriah.  Ramsey.”  Vivien nodded, and approached her.

“Loath as I am to say this, Miss Ramsey, I believe that a conversation with Professor Snape is in order,” said Vivien.  Moriah sighed, obviously having hoped to avoid detention; however, she followed Vivien towards the dungeons without so much as a whisper of protest.  Presumably she knew already that such protest would be futile.

* * *

 

“So, how’s your second year going so far?”  Elliot rested his arms on the back of his sister’s chair, looking over her shoulder at her essay on… _“Gilderoy Lockhart’s Favorite Protective Spell?”_ he read aloud, incredulous.  “That _can’t_ be the topic of your essay.”

“Elliot!” Gwen protested, twisting her head to look up at him.

“Tell me that’s a joke,” he said, “ _please_.”

“It’s what he assigned us,” Gwen told him, sounding hurt.  “It wasn’t _my_ idea!”

“Oh,” Elliot said.  “Well, then.  That’s all right, I suppose.”

“And if it _was_ my idea?”

“Are… are you… don’t tell me _you’re_ swooning over him, too!”  Elliot’s eyes widened in alarm that was only semi-feigned.  Gwen laughed lightly and smacked his arm.

_“No!”_ she said – a bit too quickly and a bit too defensively, Elliot thought.  He pushed himself back to standing, taking his weight from the back of her chair.

“Well,” he said, “this has been fun, but I’ve got work of my own to do.”  He left her to her work then, and went to his dorm.  Of the four boys he shared the room with, only one of them was there – Lance Walmsley.

“Hey, Lance,” he said as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hey,” Lance said distractedly, halfway through writing what looked to be an essay for Professor Snape – and Elliot was hardly going to distract him from _that_.  Instead he sat on his bed and pulled out a stack of his schoolbooks, trying to decide which teacher’s homework he ought to do.

Finally, he settled on the essay that Professor McGonagall had assigned them for transfiguration; it at least required enough research to make him need to go to the library, and he was starting to feel slightly claustrophobic in the small dormitory room – and even the Hufflepuff common room wasn’t much better.  Moving quickly, he made his way to the library: soon it would be curfew, and he didn’t much fancy getting a detention.

But it wasn’t curfew yet, and he knew that he was still allowed to be walking around the castle.  The light flickered over the walls as he walked, and soon he had reached the library.  He breathed in, taking in the smell of old books that only one with a true love of libraries could properly appreciate.

It was not difficult for him to find the necessary books for his transfiguration homework, and once he had he settled into a seat at a table near the window.  The last rays of the setting sun shone over the horizon as he worked, and as the sun finally slipped away, sending sunset into dusk, he looked up and out the window.

To his great surprise, there were figures moving on the grass outside; it was too dark for him to make out anything but that they were too small to be adults.  So.  Students, then – two moving together, and one trailing farther behind.

As he watched, squinting through the gathering dark, he had but one question: what on _earth_ were three students doing heading into the Forbidden Forest at nightfall?


	7. Emrys

As night fell, Matthew followed Luna and Gavin across the lawns, a growing sense of trepidation telling him that what he _really_ wished wouldn’t be true was, unfortunately, the case: they were heading towards the Forbidden Forest.  _Luna, Gavin… what are you doing?_

He didn’t really want to follow them, but he knew that he had no choice – he couldn’t just let them run off and get themselves hurt.  Honestly, what did they even think they were _doing_ _?_  He’d known that they were visiting the Forbidden Forest for weeks now, but never before had they done something so brazen – so _brash_ – as to do so at night.

Before he knew it, the trees were looming before him, and he had to hurry to somewhat close the distance between him and Luna and Gavin before the darkness swallowed them and hid them from his sight.  Now, instead of following ten meters behind them, he was barely three meters back and still he had to be incredibly careful to not crash through the underbrush and make a sound, thus revealing himself.  If he hadn’t already known that the two of them had been sneaking off to the forest, this would have told him as much: both of them were dead silent as they walked, barely rustling the leaves under their feet.  They must have already travelled this route many times.

So focused was Matthew on keeping Luna, Gavin, or both of them within his line of sight that it was not until he had very nearly crashed out of the trees behind them, and would have made a terrible racket in the process, that he saw that they’d stopped on the edge of a clearing.  The floor of the clearing was blanketed with dead leaves, and in the sky hung the moon, having only just risen over the horizon.  It was a gibbous moon, and all around it in the sky the stars shone.  Usually, Matthew would have appreciated the view, but tonight he was far more focused on the conversation between the two children illuminated by the moonlight.

“Are – are you _sure_ about this?” Luna was asking in a half-whisper, turning her head enough that she could look at Gavin out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m sure,” said Gavin, but his voice shook a bit, and Matthew was sure that he was nowhere near as confident as he pretended to be.

“Can’t we just look for nargles?  Or Crumple-Horn Snorkacks?” asked Luna, whispering under her breath, and Matthew didn’t know whether or not she meant for Gavin to answer that question.  When Gavin didn’t answer, she went on.  “What are we even looking for, anyway?”

“It’s just a rumor,” Gavin said, now sounding slightly embarrassed.  “It’s probably nothing.  C’mon, let’s… let’s go back before we get caught.”  Luna tilted her head at him quizzically, but said nothing.  Instead she simply nodded, and the two were turning to leave the clearing when there was a sound from amongst the trees on the other side.  As one, they froze, and slowly turned, and Matthew, against his own better judgement, came silently through the trees to stand, fully visible, between two trees at the very edge of the clearing.

“What was that?” Luna hissed, all traces of the dreamy quality that was usually in her voice gone.  She sounded spooked.

“I don’t know,” Gavin hissed back, sounding equally spooked.  Perhaps, had things been different, there would have been more discussion after that point; as it was, there was no time, for at that moment the rustling became a full-fledged crashing, and into the clearing came bounding a griffin.

At the sight of the creature Matthew went white and both Gavin and Luna stood stock-still, transfixed by the griffin in front of them.  Carefully, he edged forwards as the griffin drew itself back, ready to pounce, and –

“Get _down!”_ he shouted.  The other two were too shocked to do anything but obey, and as the griffin charged across the clearing, Matthew remembered too late that no pure magic – none that he remembered, _dammit_ – would defeat a griffin.

The griffin’s claws raked across his chest, drawing deep gouges from his right shoulder all the way across his body to the left side of his ribs.  For a moment, as he fell back, Matthew was in too much shock to feel any pain at all.  Then he hit the ground, the impact driving the breath from his lungs, and agony blossomed in his chest.  He didn’t scream; he had no breath with which to do so, anyway.  But he did let out an involuntary sort of squawk-screech noise.

To either side of him, Gavin and Luna were slowly drawing themselves up, and he could hear the sound of the griffin turning around to come at them again somewhere beyond his head.  Maybe he could think of a spell – _some_ spell, _any_ spell – but he knew that to do _that_ he’d have to let down the wall, and, well – there was no time.

He could feel the hot wetness of the blood flowing from his wounds spreading across his chest, and he knew that there was nothing he could do.  _I’m sorry,_ he thought, letting his eyes flutter shut.  _I’m so sorry…_

At the sound of bows and arrows, Matthew’s eyes flew open once more, and he saw the centaurs – at least ten of them, perhaps more – cantering into the clearing and coming to a halt next to Matthew, Luna, and Gavin.  No… next to wasn’t right.  They’d _surrounded_ them, forming a wall between them and the griffin.  The centaurs shot volley after volley of arrows at the griffin, and although the arrows did no lasting damage, when they began to light the arrows on fire, the griffin turned and flew away.  Immediately, one of the centaurs approached Matthew, leaning over him.  Matthew couldn’t see his face, silhouetted as he was against the brightness of the moon, but he could sense the centaur’s concern – no, _worry_.

As he finally succumbed to the pain that had begun to radiate across his whole body from the wounds in his chest, the centaur knelt beside him, and, leaning closer still, whispered a word in his ear.

The last thing that Matthew saw before he blacked out was the centaur’s silhouette, and the last thing that he heard was the centaur’s whispered word.

_“Emrys.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, would you look at that two-month chapter gap. I... oops? Yeah. Uh. There's not really much else I can say. Except that from me, one shouldn't really expect anything but sporadic updates.  
> Also, I changed the rating because of the slightly-graphic violent stuff, and possible language in later chapters. It shouldn't go up again.


	8. The Centaurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too impatient to wait to post this chapter, I guess - don't get used to it. Most of them won't come in nearly such quick succession.

As the immediate fear of the griffin wore off, Gavin looked over to where Matthew lay on the ground, still bleeding from the wounds in his chest, and a sickening wave of guilt came crashing over him.  Unbidden, a memory came to him – _lying on the ground, blood still leaking from a magically slashed throat even when life was gone_ – and he forced it down.  _Not now.  Not now._   He half-stumbled, half-crawled through the leaves to Matthew’s side, and pressed his hands to the griffin’s slashes, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood.

Another pair of hands joined his, and he looked up to see that Luna was on Matthew’s other side, a wide-eyed worry that he’d never seen before and which didn’t suit her at all plastered across her face.  Before either of them could ask the other, in a slightly-hysterical voice, what they were to do, another voice sounded from above their heads.

“Children.”  Normally, Gavin might have protested being called a child; however, this wasn’t “normally,” and he really didn’t give a damn.  “Allow us to assist you.”  He looked up to see that the speaker was a male centaur with silver-blonde hair.

“Firenze,” said another centaur, this one dark-haired, “what are you doing?”  The centaur – Firenze, Gavin supposed – turned to look at him.

“What must be done,” he said, before looking back to Gavin.  “Your friend is in need of help, and you cannot give it to him.”  He knelt next to the children.  “Come, place your friend upon my back.”  At this, the dark-haired centaur almost spluttered, and the rest of the centaurs shifted uncomfortably on their four feet, even as Gavin and Luna complied with Firenze’s instruction.

“First the boy last year, now the boy this year –” the dark-haired centaur said loudly.  “You might as well just go join the humans, if their children mean so much to you.”  Firenze, still kneeling, fixed the other centaur with a pointed look.

“Would you leave him here to die, Bane?” he asked quietly.  “Would you leave _Emrys_ here to die?”  At those words, the dark-haired centaur – _Bane_ – looked down, and said no more.  Gavin was burning with curiosity, but sensed that now was not the time to ask.

Instead, he looked at Firenze, and said, “He’ll fall off if it’s just him – he’s unconscious.”

“Then you, too, shall come,” Firenze said.  “Do not let him fall.”  Gavin shook his head, and, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the whole thing, stepped over Firenze’s back and held Matthew tight to his chest as the centaur stood.  His hands, he realized, were covered in sticky red blood – _Matthew’s_ blood.  Then Firenze turned to Luna, and smiled at her.  “Should all of my brethren prove to be so churlish as to not lead you from the forest, I shall return when your friends are safe.”

“That’s quite all right,” Luna said in her usual tone, although the fear hadn’t quite gone from her eyes.  “I’ve always wanted to meet centaurs.”  Firenze nodded to her, once, and then he was off and it was all Gavin could do to keep both himself and Matthew on the centaur’s broad, slippery back.

Before he knew it, they were emerging from the Forbidden Forest near Hagrid’s cabin, and Firenze went straight up to the door, banging on it with his fist; somehow, Gavin had imagined that the centaur would be more reserved – but then again, this was no ordinary time.  After only a moment’s pause, Hagrid opened the door, and at the sight of Gavin and the bleeding Matthew, sitting on Firenze’s back, his normally ruddy face went white.

“Firenze – wha’ _happened?”_

“A griffin attacked him,” Firenze said, his voice tight.  “Hagrid, he needs the hospital wing, _now.”_

“Right, o’ course,” said Hagrid, the voice of the usual, focused groundskeeper replacing the near-panic from only moments earlier.  He came up to Firenze, and carefully pulled Matthew from Gavin’s arms and Firenze’s back.  “Come on, you,” he said grimly to Gavin, seeming to notice him for the first time.  “We’re goin’ ter the hospital wing.”

Gavin nodded silently, unable to bring himself to speak, and slid from the centaur’s back.  He turned to Firenze and gave him a half-smile of thanks before running after Hagrid.  Although Hagrid was not running, merely striding, his legs were so much longer than Gavin’s that the boy had to flat-out run in order to keep up.

His legs and chest burned as he followed Hagrid up the stairs.  _Hey, at least if I keep doing this, I’ll end up in great shape,_ he thought with grim good humor.  And the pain his body was in kept him from thinking too much about how pale and limp Matthew had been in his arms, and the blood that had been all across Firenze’s back when Hagrid had pulled him away – _no.  No.  Don’t think about it.  Just focus on your legs.  Just keep going._

In fact, Gavin was so focused on not-thinking that when Hagrid finally entered the hospital wing and came to a halt, he ran straight into him and fell to the ground.  His legs, seeming to realize that he was no longer in motion, refused to obey him when he tried to get back to his feet.

“Hagrid!” cried Madame Pomfrey, hurrying from her office.  “What’s happened?  They’re both covered in blood!”

“Griffin attacked ‘em,” Hagrid said as he laid Matthew’s limp form onto the clean white sheets of one of the hospital wing beds.

“Don’t worry about me,” Gavin managed to get out between gasping breaths.  “It only got Matthew – this is all _his_ blood.”  At his words, Madame Pomfrey’s eyes went wide and she hurried to Matthew’s bedside, pulling out her wand and saying spell after spell – her voice was too low, and Gavin too far away, to make out the exact words.  Hagrid pulled Gavin to his feet, and set him on his still-trembling legs, which, thankfully, held beneath him.

“Wha’ were yeh _thinkin’?”_ Hagrid asked in a low, furious whisper – although Gavin got the sense that he was more worried than he was truly angry.

“We – we weren’t?” said Gavin, his voice shaking a little.  It didn’t normally do that.  “We – _I_ didn’t even know he was there until the griffin came…”  He was sure that Hagrid had noticed his slip, that he’d started out saying there had been more people there than just Matthew and him, but if he had, the groundskeeper didn’t comment on it.  Madame Pomfrey picked that moment to come over to them, a bottle and a cup in her hands.

“Matthew – is – is he all right?” Gavin asked, fearing the answer but needing to know.

“He’ll be fine, Mr. Knightly,” Madame Pomfrey said.  “Although… well, I’ll let you see for yourself.”  She stepped aside, and Gavin, with a burst of speed he hadn’t thought he could get out of his exhausted legs, ran over to the bed.  There Matthew lay, looking much less pale than he had the last time Gavin had seen him. His torn robes had been neatly cut away from his chest, and where there had before been three massive, bleeding gashes, there were three thick, angry red scars.  “I’m afraid that the scars will have to fade with time,” said Madame Pomfrey, answering the question that Gavin had been too uncertain to ask.  He nodded, and made to pull up a chair and sit by Matthew’s bed, but before he could Madame Pomfrey shook her head.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said firmly.  “You are still in shock, Mr. Knightly, and after you drink this –” here she held out the cup, now filled with liquid from the bottle – “you will clean yourself up and change into _these_ –” here she indicated the pajamas folded on one of the adjacent beds; Gavin had seen them earlier, but had paid them no mind – “and you will be staying _here_ at least for tonight, if not longer.”

Gavin nodded once more – what else could he do? – and accepted the cup from Madame Pomfrey, downing it in one.  It didn’t taste as vile as he’d feared, but it did leave him with a bitter aftertaste.  He found himself growing calmer, and he took the proffered basin of water to wash Matthew’s blood from his skin with hands that did not tremble.

After he had changed into the provided pajamas, Gavin looked at Hagrid, who lingered still in the hospital wing – while he’d been changing behind his screen, Gavin saw that someone had changed Matthew’s clothing from his torn and bloody robes to clean pajamas, and had put him under the covers.

“You should get back to your cabin,” Gavin said to Hagrid, who started.

“Eh?  Why?”

“Luna’s probably there.”  Had he been in an even slightly more lucid state, Gavin wouldn’t have said a thing – he didn’t, after all, want to get his friend in trouble.  As it was, Hagrid said nothing, simply turned and left the hospital wing.  Gavin lay back on the soft pillows of his bed, and drank the potion that Madame Pomfrey had left on the table.

As he closed his eyes and fell into sleep, a thought drifted to the surface of his mind – just who or what _was_ Emrys, anyway?


	9. Of Detentions and Dreams

Professor McGonagall was furious.  So was Professor Flitwick, but his anger showed up more in disappointment than it did in fury – and somehow, that made Matthew feel ten times as guilty as he would have felt had McGonagall been his Head of House.

“What were you _thinking?”_ asked Professor McGonagall, and all three of them – Matthew, Luna, and Gavin – shrank back against their pillows.  Soon, Madame Pomfrey would likely come out and scold McGonagall for yelling in the hospital wing, but she hadn’t done so yet.  “Never mind.  I’d rather that you weren’t thinking at all.”

“Don’t get too mad at them,” Gavin said in the smallest voice that Matthew had ever heard from him.  “It was my idea.”

“Regardless of whose idea it was, Knightly, I would have expected better of all of you!”  Both Luna and Gavin sank even further into their beds; Matthew, who had been forbidden to sit up by Madame Pomfrey, tugged his blanket a little closer to his chin.  In a slightly-quieter voice, Professor McGonagall continued.  “Loath as I am to take points from my own house, Professor Flitwick and I have decided that you’ve each lost your house fifty points – each, not collectively – for sheer recklessness.”  At that, Matthew turned to look at the other two.  Luna seemed concerned, and Gavin was openly dismayed, gaping at McGonagall.

“But – Professor –”

“If I were you, Knightly,” she said, not unkindly, “I’d be glad that I wasn’t a Ravenclaw.”  Gavin swallowed hard, and nodded.  Matthew couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the other boy struck dumb quite like that.  After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, Flitwick picked up where McGonagall had left off.

“This is not the type of behavior I expect from students in my own House,” he said, and Matthew felt an ashamed blush creeping onto his face.  “Gryffindors, yes – all too often bravery comes hand-in-hand with recklessness – but not _Ravenclaws.”_

“It has been decided,” said Professor McGonagall, taking over, “that since you three seem to like the Forbidden Forest so much, you can assist Hagrid in the evenings and on weekends.”

“For how long?” Luna asked, her usually-dreamy tones tempered by how obviously nervous she was.  McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged looks with each other that Matthew read as meaning nothing good for them.

“For the foreseeable future, Miss Lovegood,” Professor Flitwick finally said.  “Not past Christmas break.”

“Oh,” Gavin said softly.

“Mr. Nelson will be excused from the detentions until he has been cleared to leave the hospital wing and return to classes by Madame Pomfrey,” Flitwick continued.  Perhaps the two teachers would have continued their lecture, but at that moment, the very woman of whom Flitwick had been speaking appeared in the doorway.

“Minerva, Filius, that’s quite enough,” she said sternly.  “These children are still shaken, and I would rather you did not undo all my work on Matthew by stressing him unduly.”

“Of course, Poppy,” Professor McGonagall said graciously, and with that both she and Flitwick swept from the hospital wing.

Immediately after she’d gone, Gavin turned to Matthew, a look of abject horror on his face.  “Fifty points _each_ , and detention until Christmas… we’re doomed.”

“They said it wouldn’t be _past_ Christmas,” Matthew said logically, trying to be optimistic.  “Maybe it’ll end sooner.”  But Gavin was shaking his head.

“Unlikely,” he said.  “Of course, it’s _possible_ , but… not very likely.”  Luna and Gavin, who Matthew suspected were simply still feeling the effects of Madame Pomfrey’s calming draughts, both slid back down their pillows and fell asleep in short order.  Matthew alone remained awake, his unfocused eyes staring at the ceiling.

That was how he was lying, at least an hour later – or maybe several, it was hard to tell – when the door of the hospital wing was pushed open, and a girl with ash-blonde hair who looked to be about twelve came in.  Of course, he only knew what she looked like because he’d tilted his head to get a look at her; she was a second year Ravenclaw – Celia, he thought her name was.  She approached Madame Pomfrey, who was at Gavin’s bedside, checking on him.

“Madame Pomfrey?” Celia said hesitantly.

“Yes, what is it, Miss –”

“McCall,” she said swiftly.  “Celia McCall.”

“What seems to be the problem, Miss McCall?”

“Well…”  Matthew couldn’t see Celia’s face, but he could hear the nerves in her voice.  “It’s not about me,” she said in a rush.  “It’s about one of my roommates.  She’s been having nightmares, almost every night since we got here.”

“Nightmares, you say?”

“Yeah.  _Bad_ ones.  She – she’d hate me to tell you any of this,” said Celia, as if only just then realizing the extent to which she was going behind her friend’s back.

“But you considered it important enough to tell me anyway,” said Madame Pomfrey.  “So what about these nightmares of hers?”

“I don’t know what they’re about,” Celia admitted.  “She won’t tell me.  Last year she _barely_ told me anything, and this year they’re worse and she tells me nothing.  But she wakes up screaming half the time, and I think the other half of the time she barely sleeps for fear of dreaming.”

Matthew could hear the frown on Madame Pomfrey’s voice when next she spoke.  “This certainly seems to be a problem,” she said.  “However, I can’t do anything about it if she doesn’t come to me – I can’t simply dose her with a sleeping draught for no good reason.”

“Okay,” said Celia, sounding rather deflated.  “It was worth a try, I guess.  Because she won’t come to you, you know.  I’ve tried to convince her, but she won’t come.”

“Perhaps if you try a different tactic this time,” Madame Pomfrey suggested gently.  Celia didn’t respond, but Matthew heard her footsteps leave the hospital wing, and he heard Madame Pomfrey’s sigh after she went.

He hadn’t noticed earlier – too focused on the conversation, he supposed – but even under the blankets, with them pulled up to his chin, he was cold.  Matthew felt a shiver run through him, and it seemed as if ice water were trickling down his spine as his shivering increased, and his teeth chattered.

“M – M – Madame P – Pomfrey,” he said through chattering teeth.  She was at his bedside in an instant.

“Yes, Mr. Nelson?”

“C – can I have another b – blanket?  I-I’m _f-freezing_.” Instead of saying no, or complying with his request, she put her hand on his forehead, withdrawing it after only a moment with a frown on her face.

“You’re burning up,” she said.  Matthew didn’t know about _that_.  All he knew was that even though he was lying down, his head was spinning, and he thought he might be sick as nausea swirled in his stomach.  His vision faded slowly as the sound of static grew in his ears, and soon enough he could neither see nor hear.

Then there was the soft, welcoming darkness, and Matthew thought no more.


	10. Fever Dreams

Matthew dreamed of Camelot.  In his dream he said something that must have been funny – even in the moment, he wasn’t sure what it was – and Arthur laughed, before dumping a bucket of water over his head.  Matthew was a bit exasperated, and annoyed, but he wasn’t really _angry_.  It was rare indeed that he was actually _angry_ at Arthur.

Then he was huddled next to Arthur in an abandoned castle, both of them thinking they were about to die, and they spoke of the nature of friendship.  Then the dorocha attacked them, and Matthew tackled it, and –

An old man stood on a cliff overlooking the sea, which crashed over the rocks below.  His hair was cut short and he wore no beard; as Matthew approached him, his joints hurt a bit, and he could feel long hair on his head and a beard on his face – so he was old in this dream, then.  Old as he had not been in the dream of Camelot, though he had been older then than he was in real life.

“So you did it, then,” said Matthew, coming to stand next to the other man.

“Yes,” said the old man.

“You’ll die,” said Matthew, and the old man gave a faint smile.

“You know better than most why I’m not bothered by that,” he said, and Matthew sighed.

“Would that I could join you,” he said, “but I can’t.  I don’t know if I ever will.”  Even on top of the cliff, he could feel the slightest bit of spray from the ocean below on his face.

“Merlin,” the man said, “there’s something I must tell you, before my time runs out.”

“What is it, Nicholas?” asked Matthew, his heart rate accelerating – though why it should was unaccountable.  He had no reason to be nervous.

“I went to Hogwarts myself to retrieve the Stone,” Nicholas began.  “I could have had someone else retrieve it for me, yes, but I was – understandably so, I think – a bit leery of that, and besides I wanted to revisit the school one last time.”

“Before you can’t anymore.”

“Yes.  Now let me continue.”  Nicholas sighed.  “Fourteen years ago, you told me that Avalon had been disturbed – that Arthur was back.  And when I was at Hogwarts, one of the students I saw there was a boy, thirteen or fourteen years old, who looked just like Arthur as you’ve described him to me.  So I asked him his name.”

“And?”  Matthew’s throat was dry, his heart now beating a tattoo against his ribs.  He could barely hear Nicholas over the blood roaring in his ears.

“His name is Arthur Pennyworth,” said Nicholas, and the cliffs dissolved.

A mirror appeared in front of him, and he was younger this time – about nineteen or twenty, it seemed. His reflection bore a wide grin, and Matthew raised a hand to touch his face.  It seemed his reflection wasn’t the only one who could grin like a madman.

“So,” he said aloud, although there was no one around.  “Hogwarts it is, then.”  There was a pause, and he frowned at his reflection.  “Well, I can’t very well go like _this,”_ he said to no one in particular.  He turned to the table beside him, and began rifling through the pages, stopping only when he got to a very specific page.

He knew, of course, how to do an aging spell.  He’d been able to do one since he was the age of the man in the mirror, or only a bit older.  But this one was special – this time, he had to grow.

“Seven years,” he was muttering to himself.  “Seven bloody years! I’ll be lucky if I don’t go mad…”  But all the same, he looked in the mirror and said the words and his eyes flashed gold, and all of a sudden he was shrinking, his face becoming less angular, his Adam’s apple flattening, his shoulders narrowing.  In only moments it was over, and he stood before the mirror, a tall-for-his-age, thin eleven-year-old boy.  All that was left now was to come up with a name.  His own wouldn’t do very well at all.

So he traced glittering letters in the air with a finger, and frowned at the name he had spelled.

_M E R L I N_

He waved a hand, and more letters appeared between the others. Now the letters read:

_Matthew Earl Reginald Linnaeus Isaac Nelson_

_Much better_.  He knew that Nicholas would probably have raised an eyebrow at his new name, and asked him if he was _trying_ to get himself caught, but the acronym that his new initials formed was just too perfect for him to resist.

_His name is Arthur Pennyworth_.  Nicholas’s message echoed in his mind as darkness filtered down, and his dreams began to turn to nightmares.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat on a chair in the hospital wing next to the bed of Matthew Nelson.  Hagrid had told him that Matthew had come out of the Forest on Firenze’s back, held in place by Gavin Knightly.  And Firenze had assured him that, although his fellow centaurs had led Luna Lovegood from the forest rather than let her ride upon their backs, they were not at all angry with him for taking Matthew and Gavin out that way.

It could simply be the centaurs’ like for children of all species making itself known, but there was part of him – a not-so-insignificant part – that refused to accept that.   _Protect_ children, yes.  Guide them to safety, yes.  But let a human child – even an injured one – ride upon a centaur with repercussions for no one?  That was a first.

Sweat stood out on Matthew’s forehead, and he moved fitfully as he slept, no doubt in the midst of some fever dream.  After a moment’s consideration, Albus reached out and touched his shoulder.

Matthew came awake all at once, gasping for breath, his hands flying up to his chest, where Albus knew that beneath the sheets and his shirt there lay three new, angry red scars.

“Professor Dumbledore,” said Matthew, in a slow-yet-surprised sort of tone.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sir.”

“Nor should you have,” Albus replied, smiling down at him.  The boy’s eyes were blue, he noticed – blue, and looked older than the eyes of any child his age ought to.

“I don’t mean to be blunt, but – why are you here?” Matthew asked.  “Sir,” he added as a hasty afterthought.  _You don’t mean to be blunt, and yet you are – and I’d wager that you’re fully aware of it, too_.

“Why am I here?  I care for my students, Mr. Nelson.”  Here he let his expression show his feelings, and become grave.  “The forest is forbidden for a reason – I am sure that you understand that.  But I find myself unable to see any of the current denizens of the forest inflicting this particular injury on a boy of your age.”  If he hadn’t been watching Matthew as closely as he was, he would have missed the brief, wry smile and the even briefer flash of long-buried grief in his eyes at the last words of his sentence; as it was, he chose to say nothing and instead file the information away for the future.  “I must therefore ask you a question,” he said, continuing.  “What was it that attacked you in the Forbidden Forest?”

“Griffin,” Matthew said shortly, his hand going to his chest once more to rub at the scars there.  He was likely overtired, even from this simple exertion.  “It was a griffin.  Sir.”  Albus had the sense that Matthew’s difficulty with calling him “sir” was not from any disrespect, but rather… a certain unaccustomedness to the term, he supposed.

“A griffin?”  Albus raised an eyebrow.  “Griffins do not usually live in the Forbidden Forest.”

Matthew shrugged, pushing himself closer to a sitting position, and said, “I don’t know what’s usually in the Forbidden Forest or not.  All I know is that I was attacked by a griffin, and the only reason Gavin and Luna were untouched was that I told them to get down.”

“And yet you did not follow your own advice.”  Matthew laughed at that, but the laugh became a cough and he winced, running his fingers across his chest again.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said dryly.  “It wasn’t much fun.”  Albus smiled at him once more.

“I fear if I stay any longer, Madam Pomfrey will come along to chastise me for keeping you from your rest,” he said as he got to his feet.  “Rest well, and have a good day.”

“You too, Professor,” said Matthew.  Then Albus left the hospital wing, his thoughts focusing on one question: Who had let a griffin onto the school grounds?  And – almost more importantly – _why?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, look who's back.  
> It's... been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that. I really have no excuse at this point; for a while I didn't have access to the document, but that ceased to be the case months ago.  
> Here's a chapter; I have a few more that I really _ought_ to upload soon, and more will hopefully come after that.


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